I do it, and I do it big. Here's to not forgetting about it.

Archive for June, 2014

Why I Will Never Put Away My Scale

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Yes. I do. Ten, in fact. Ten to be pleased with myself, five to exit panic mode.

“But Lady J,” you say. “You look great! Why are you obsessing about a number?”

You’re damn right. I’m fine as hell. And thank you, by the way. But this 10 that must be rid of came on in TWO. WEEKS. Yes, the past two weeks have involved carb loading for a race, an upper respiratory infection, and a sprained ankle, and I’m also winding down in what has been an insane school year. No matter.

But my clothes feel fine.

Don’t get it twisted. I feel pretty miserable. I could very easily attribute that to my maladies and lack of exercise. However, I haven’t been eating well and I knew that the scale would read a higher number than I like. But 10 pounds? I would have NEVER guessed my debauchery has been that bad.

There are some who advocate judging your current state by how you feel generally and how your clothes feel. I’m betting I would have had to gain another 5 pounds before my clothes started to feel different. 10 is bad enough, but 15? No thanks.

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Many proponents of not looking at the scale also are of the thinking that you should not beat yourself up. To them I say, “What if you’re full of shit?” I know that I’ve been falling short of what is best for my body. I don’t deserve hugs and kisses for gaining 10 pounds. I need to tighten the F up and deal with it. I know better and did not choose to do better. Am I going to berate myself for two weeks of bad decisions? Probably. But so help me God, those 10 will be off by the end of the month. Sanity and self-love be damned.

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Jesus and Triathlon keep me off the streets.

And out of my fridge.

All kidding aside, there are times I must simply marvel at the things I do or don’t do. It’s so awesome that I know I didn’t do it by myself. In Him alone am I strong.

I last wrote that I’ve not been training how I like. This means I’ve had some extra time for which I did not plan. How’s the saying go again – idle hands are a fat ass’s workshop? I’m living proof. I’ve definitely been humbled these past few days, in that I was pleased that I had stopped thinking working out gives me the right to eat whatever I want. Turns out I’m even more twisted than that. I figure – I’m not working out. What else is there to do but eat. Why should I bother eating healthily? It’s not as though, oh, the 14-15 hours I’m awake and not training are worth fueling well.

I KNOW that some of my anxiety to get back to training has to do with the fact that I’m concerned about regaining the weight I’ve lost. I genuinely do miss the rush and endorphins that training brings. I love that I have reached a point where not training feels unnatural. However, eating right for the sake of doing so – just because it’s good for me – is still very foreign to me. It’s as though the muscle memory of my previously unhealthy lifestyle wants to kick in and I feel too tired to fight it.

Incidentally, triathlon actually keeps me on the streets via bike and run. Maybe this was not an aptly chosen title. Pray for me, y’all.

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